


Reaching For the Ties That Bind

by muggle95



Series: Muggle's HP Fics [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter adopts his younger self, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel Fix-It, house elf feels, let Harry Potter have a real childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muggle95/pseuds/muggle95
Summary: To the Master of Death, what is an impossible ritual but an opportunity?Or: Harry and Draco go back in time, collect another Harry Potter, and have a busy summer
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & alternate dimension Harry Potter
Series: Muggle's HP Fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901860
Comments: 28
Kudos: 149
Collections: Past Imperfect Future Unknown 2020





	1. Travellers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixtapestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/gifts).



The only being that would have noticed the sudden whirl of magical energy was an ancient house elf, who was currently sleeping. The even older stone walls of the ritual room contained the surge of magic so that, from the rest of the house, only those who were actively paying attention would notice. Kreacher, who had not interacted with anyone, human, house elf, or otherwise, for years, and had no reason to think today would be any different, slept obliviously through the early hours of the morning.

The vortex, which would not have been visible to the naked eye even if the stone room wasn't sealed against all light, spread to fill most of the dusty ritual room at 12 Grimmauld Place, spinning faster and more intensely until it deposited two humans, standing and clutching each other, in the center of the room.

As suddenly as it had begun, the magical energy flickered out, leaving only a slight charge in the air, and the buzz of a tightly contained, though no less powerful, ward around the two men.

Harry Potter, the Master of Death, let out a slow, deliberate breath, releasing his husband's soul and holding the ward tight until he was certain Draco's soul was settling completely into his body. With a wave of his hand, behind Draco's back since he certainly wasn't letting go, Harry lit the torches around the ritual room so that he could see the dusty space, and more importantly, his husband.

Draco had gone rigid, as though his soul instinctively understood how the void would have sapped it away if not for the Master of Death's fierce control. All the fine blond hair on his arms was standing on end in the charge of the room. Harry could feel it against his own arm as he pulled back to hold Draco by the waist, so they could see each other's faces.

Draco had a healthy pink tinge to his cheeks, and a wild gleam in his eyes, displaying the same instinctive, existential fear. "Did it work?" he asked hoarsely.

Harry looked around at the empty, dusty room. "It appears so. Merlin, I'd forgotten the state this house was in before Sirius moved back in." He took half a step back, since Draco was standing steadily on his own, and kicked up enough dust to send himself into a sneezing fit.

Draco drew a small pouch from under his robes, and took his wand out of it. He tucked the pouch back under his robes for now, trusting the chain around his neck to keep it secure, and quietly banished the rest of the dust while Harry was recovering. He also conjured a small handkerchief, which Harry gratefully accepted.

"Right. Shall we get on to business?" Harry asked, once he could speak again.

"Please," Draco agreed.

Harry nodded. "Kreacher?" he asked, commandingly.

The ancient house elf appeared with a pop, bleary eyed and dressed in a filthy pillowcase.

"Kreacher was called?" the house elf grumbled, glaring at them. He didn't recognize either of them, but the fact that he responded, however unwillingly, to the summons suggested his magic recognized Harry's.

"Kreacher, what family do you serve?" Harry asked.

"The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," Kreacher answered automatically. He was able to leave off any sort of title until properly introduced, but his magic demanded he answer the direct question.

"Are you bound to serve Sirius Black?" Harry asked patiently.

"Kreacher serves the horrid blood traitor," Kreacher growled nastily.

Harry nodded, hiding his annoyance. He knew how to get Kreacher to cooperate, but he wanted to confirm this first. "And his heir?"

"A filthy half-blood."

"Sirius' heir is Harry Potter?" Harry asked, more directly. It was odd to talk about himself in the third person, but he would have to get used to it quickly.

"Yes," Kreacher snarled.

"Are you bound to serve Harry Potter as the heir of Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Kreacher repeated, reluctantly.

"And does your magic recognize me as Harry Potter?" Harry asked. He was certain it did, since Kreacher had appeared immediately upon being summoned.

Kreacher stared at him. "Yes," he answered finally. "Kreacher be recognizing Master half-blood," he answered, twisting the word 'half-blood' into something hateful.

"Good," Harry answered. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, to be closer to Kreacher's level. "Kreacher, I want you to stay and listen to me without interrupting until I dismiss you. I hope by the end of this conversation we will have come to an understanding."

Kreacher didn't answer, since it was a command and not a question, but he did stop muttering under his breath about bringing dishonor to the family.

Meanwhile, Draco conjured a chair to sit in, watching silently.

"Kreacher, I am aware you have fond memories of Lord Black's brother, Regulus," Harry began. Kreacher glowered and didn't respond, but Harry wasn't surprised. He knew that in Kreacher's position he would have expected a contrary statement to follow, and he couldn't have Kreacher running away before they understood each other, hence his initial, albeit reluctant order.

"I also understand that you and Regulus undertook a final task together before his death, and that he left you with one final order, which, through no fault of your own, you have been unable to complete."

Kreacher's face displayed anger, then fear, though most wizards wouldn't bother to recognize it. Depending on the family, house elves would receive clothes for lesser infractions than orders that were completely unfulfilled. But on the other hand, this new Master had stated that it wasn't Kreacher's fault. He didn't seem angry. He was more like Master Regulus than Mistress Walburga.

"As it happens, Kreacher, Regulus and I agree on the need to destroy the locket, and fortunately I know how," Harry stated calmly.

Harry was pausing regularly, as though to give Kreacher a chance to respond to each statement, but Kreacher didn't take the opportunity. Initially he wasn't going to say anything, to protect Master Regulus' memory, and now that he was emotionally inclined to listen this the new Master Half-Blood, the instruction not to interrupt restricted him more tightly.

"Kreacher, you have my word that I will destroy the locket as soon as I have collected other, similarly horrid, objects that need to be destroyed with it." Harry promised. "For now I would like you to keep the locket hidden in this house, with the utmost protections against detection or theft, but be ready to provide it to me as soon as I am ready to destroy it. Oh, and I forbid you from wearing it on your person, only because it would do you harm in the process."

Kreacher was staring at him, now with wide-eyed hope, but still didn't answer, until Harry finally realized, "Oh! Sorry, Kreacher. You may speak. I am interested in your reactions to what I've said." He carefully did not phrase the last statement as an order, nor as a question.

Kreacher answered hesitantly, much slower than he had when the magic that bonded a house elf had compelled him to answer direct questions. "Master Half-Blood would help Kreacher honor Master Regulus'?"

"I would like to," Harry agreed.

"Kreacher will do everything possible to help," he promised, more immediately.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said, and the elf's adoring look made him sad. Congratulations and gratitude for an elf's work were all too rare, especially among the families who valued their "pure" blood.

"Right, Kreacher, the conversation I instructed you to stay for is over. I hope you will stay to talk more, but you may leave."

Harry hated that he'd had to use the house elf bond to restrict Kreacher's free will, even for such an important conversation, but he still didn't want Kreacher to think he was being sent away when Harry dismissed him from the order.

"What does Master Half-blood want to discuss?" Kreacher asked. Harry smiled. The tone that turned "half-blood" into an insult had completely faded from Kreacher's voice, and he was staying of his own volition. House elves were extraordinary allies, if you showed them the respect they deserved - or, sadly, even a fraction of the respect they deserved.

"First things first, we established that you recognized me as Harry Potter, heir to Lord Sirius Black. This is Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa Malfoy née Black." Kreacher's eyes went wide, but he could feel the truth of the claim. "As you might guess from our appearance and knowledge, we are from the future. Would you confirm today's date for us?"

"Today is being the second of June, nineteen ninety-two," Kreacher answered promptly, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

Harry nodded. Only a few days until Hogwarts let out. They had a lot to do in that time. "One of our goals in coming back is to destroy the locket, and similar atrocities, sooner than it happened in our own timeline." When Kreacher looked alarmed, he added, "I understand your worry, but we used a ritual much more stable than a time turner.” It was one that had never been published, due to the fact that the inventor died upon trying to test it. Fortunately, the knowledge the witch had carried with her into her death allowed Harry to understand  _ how  _ it had killed her, and how to prevent Draco from dying the same way. “This timeline is in no danger of collapsing." He wasn't sure how inadvertent orders such as 'don't worry' would affect Kreacher, and he abhorred the thought of meddling with someone else's mind without permission.

Kreacher nodded cautiously, not quite convinced. Harry considered explaining further later, but for now...

"Secondly," Harry continued, "I want you to know that I will not give you clothes unless you, of your own volition – specifically, not under Imperius nor by the instruction of another family member – ever ask me directly for them."

Kreacher froze in fear at the mention of clothes, and was watching Harry warily again, even by the end of his statement. Harry resisted a sigh. As Master of Death, he had access to all the knowledge of every sentient being who had ever died. That knowledge included the awful true origin of the house elves' dependence on wizarding families - an entire race subjugated due to a trick in a magically-enforced contract that was meant to be between two individual elves and one human family. It was now unfortunately a cruelty to dismiss a house elf from service, and a mockery that they weren't allowed the dignity of  _ clothes  _ except in the cursed existence they could expect if they ever quit serving humans. Still, he hoped to provide as much dignity and free will to any and all house elves under his "control" as possible.

For now, Kreacher was looking too horrified for Harry to even suggest the workaround Dobby had stumbled onto - even though the future's Kreacher had eventually accepted the arrangement with clothes and wages, this Kreacher wasn't ready for it - so he moved on to the conclusion of the topic instead. "With that in mind, Kreacher, I was hoping you would accept a clean pillowcase as your new uniform."

Kreacher visibly relaxed that the mention of clothing had passed. "As Master Half-blood wishes," he answered, polite but still wary.

Harry pulled a neatly ironed pillowcase out of a pouch around his own neck. It was a pale green with the Black family crest embroidered on the top corner, and holes for Kreacher's head and arms already cut and hemmed neatly. He laid it on the floor in front of the elf. "Will this do? I have more prepared in other colors."

Kreacher's eyes lit up, probably at the proof that Harry had meant exactly what he said in offering a new uniform. He wasn't threatening clothes, and he had come prepared with a quality pillowcase, already adapted for wear.

In the blink of an eye, Kreacher was clothed in the new green pillowcase, and the filthy, tattered one was in its place on the floor.

Harry nodded, unsurprised by Kreacher's reaction. "Third, I would ordinarily ask you to address me by name, but I expect to be bringing the younger Harry Potter here, and that will get confusing quickly. I will inform you when I have decided on a different name for myself. In the meantime, as long as you remain polite about it, 'master half blood' doesn't bother me."

"Kreacher understands," the elf answered. He seemed confused at Harry's lack of orders.

"Most importantly, Kreacher, no matter what else I ask of you, I expect you to take care of your own physical needs," Harry stated firmly. Expressing verbal expectations was the closest he was willing to come to giving direct orders under most circumstances. "If you need to stop working on something else to eat or sleep, please get as much food and rest and water as you need. I'd appreciate if you didn't leave a mess half-swept that someone could trip on, or the stove on, or other hazards to yourself and others, when you stop for a break. But I expect you to take care of yourself too."

Kreacher nodded, wide-eyed. Master Harry was even more explicit about taking care of himself than Master Regulus had been.

"I realize Sirius currently outranks me in terms of giving you orders, but for everyone I outrank, including the younger Harry Potter, please take anything they say as requests rather than orders. You may obey if you like, but you are not bound to." He paused for a moment. "Please treat anything further that I say as a request, rather than an order, as well, unless it is related to your own or someone else's safety."

Kreacher agreed, still watching Harry with a wary sort of respect. Harry relaxed. He could quit watching his words so closely now.

"Finally," Harry concluded, "I would appreciate if this house was cleaned and fit for habitation as quickly as possible. I care most about the kitchen and dining area, the stairs and halls, and bedrooms and bathrooms. Libraries and specialty rooms like this are lower priority. Do you understand, Kreacher?"

Kreacher nodded cautiously. "Should Kreacher start cleaning now?" He still hadn't received an order, even after Master Harry instructed him to treat all future orders as requests.

Harry smiled benignly. "You may if you'd like. I believe I woke you when I called? You may instead go through your personal morning routine and eat breakfast before you start. Let me know if there are boggarts, or any other problems you'd like my help with."

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher answered, before disappearing with a pop.

"He doesn't know what to do with you  _ not  _ giving him orders," Draco observed, amused.

"He'll get used to it," Harry retorted, without heat. "Ready to call Dobby?"

Draco huffed an exaggerated sigh, feigning annoyance. "Dobby?"

A long moment passed before Dobby appeared in front of them, cringing. "Young Master Malfoy be calling Dobby?" He began twisting his own ears in punishment for his slow response.

Draco shot Harry a look to convey his annoyance, and Harry returned it with a fond grin. 

"Dobby, answer me honestly: do I have the authority to sell you into another family's service?" Draco asked, taking the lead. Kreacher had responded to Harry as Sirius' heir, and Dobby had responded to Draco as a Malfoy, but he needed to make sure he could follow through on what they'd planned before he tried it.

Dobby finally looked up in confusion at Draco's adult form. Draco had been Lord Malfoy in the future, but would magic recognize that now with Lucius alive and well?

"No, Young Master Malfoy," Dobby answered, cowering in anticipation of a blow.

"Do I have the authority to give you clothes?" Draco asked, impatient.

"Y-yes, Young Master Malfoy," Dobby answered, still braced for impact.

"Oh honestly, Draco, give him a choice about it," Harry scolded, as Draco pulled his pouch back out to find appropriate clothing. He turned to Dobby. "Dobby, Draco was hoping to give you to me. I would have offered you something similar if you belonged to me, but as it stands... Would you like to accept clothes from him so that I may hire you as a free elf?"

Dobby peered out at Harry from between his fingers.

"Yes, I would like to give you to Harry Potter the elder," Draco affirmed, more or less helpfully.

"We're from the future," Harry said. "Do you believe us?"

Dobby considered how the adult Draco hadn't demanded anything unreasonable, and how magic recognized him as an adult with the authority to clothe his family's elves. He stared for a moment at Harry's scar. "Dobby believes you, sir," he answered, relaxing from his defensive stance and slowly standing up straight.

"You and I discovered that, as an elf, even if you receive clothes, as long as you are acting in service of a witch or wizard, whether or not it is one you are bound to, you don't lose access to magic," Harry explained. "Would you like Draco to free you right now, so that I may hire you?"

Draco waited beside Dobby with a clean pair of socks, but deferred to Harry insistence they talk it out first.

Dobby seemed to sense Harry's sincerity. "Dobby would... Dobby would like that, Mister Harry Potter Sir."

"Dobby, please. The titles are unnecessary," Harry said with a fond smile.

"Dobby," Draco drew his attention, holding out the socks. "If you would like these, they're yours." He paused a few inches from Dobby's hands, making it clear the choice was Dobby's own.

Dobby barely hesitated before taking the socks out of Draco's hand, and putting them on proudly.

"So, Dobby," Harry said, making the elf turn back to him. "How much can I hire you for? A galleon a day?"

Dobby's eyes appeared to bulge out of his head slightly more than usual. "Oh no no no that is far too much!" he squeaked. "Dobby would work for... for three sickles a month."

Harry grinned. He'd named a wage higher than the future Dobby had accepted, suspecting the elf would try to argue him down no matter what. "I'm afraid I won't go lower than one galleon a week," he countered. "That's approximately four galleons a month."

"Dobby will accept two galleons a month," he said bravely. Despite his willful nature, he hadn't had much experience truly standing up for himself at the Malfoys'.

"Done," Harry said, not wanting to stress Dobby too much in negotiations. "You will also get weekends off."

Dobby stared at him again. "Dobby cannot... cannot accept..."

"Please, Dobby?" Harry asked. "I'm already paying you far less than I would any other servant, and everyone deserves time off."

"One day a month?" Dobby offered, slightly more confidently.

"One day a week," Harry countered, "and if I ever ask you to work on your day off, you may refuse, but if you accept the request, you'll get two days off the following week."

"Go on, Dobby," Draco cut in, before the elf could protest further. "Harry's attention span only lasts a week and he's worried he won't remember to give you your time off if you accept anything less."

Harry rolled his eyes fondly at Draco, who smirked back at him, but didn't argue. Elves were routinely taught to have absolutely no self-worth, and Harry was determined that his elves would learn to accept the wages and freedoms that humans demanded for themselves. Even if it took a while.

"Dobby accepts," Dobby answered reluctantly.

"Great, let's shake on it," Harry agreed, before Dobby could start negotiating again. Wide-eyed, Dobby obediently shook his hand. Harry was surprised the elf hadn't yet burst into tears at the respect the Malfoys certainly didn't give him. "I'll get something more official written up within a week and we can sign a contract. You will obviously have the chance to read it first."

“Okay Master Harry Potter Sir!” Dobby agreed,

Harry grinned. “May I give you your first assignment?”

Dobby nodded.

“You have a choice,” Harry explained. “There is a very important, but potentially uncomfortable task I would appreciate your help with, or you can help Kreacher clean the house here. I will not be disappointed either way.”

“Master Harry Potter wants  _ Dobby's  _ help for something so important? Dobby would be  _ honored _ !”

“You are the perfect elf for this task.” Harry agreed. “But you don't  _ have  _ to agree; there are other tasks I can assign you.” He grinned fondly at Dobby's eager nod. “Are you willing to pretend to still be a Malfoy elf for a few months?”


	2. Connections

A few days later, the breakfast table at Grimmauld Place was swarmed with owls. Harry and Draco split the work of trading food for letters. Two of the owls left promptly, but the third stayed behind, waiting for a response.

“Mother is open to helping us,” Draco reported, opening the first letter in his hands. “But she wants to meet in person before agreeing for sure. Does Tuesday afternoon work for us?”

“I don't see why not,” Harry answered. “When we talk, we should suggest she send the cup along with Dobby, so she doesn't have to worry about concealing it until she can meet with us a second time.”

Draco muttered his agreement, already taking notes in a planner.

"Any idea what your mother wrote in that letter?" Harry asked.

"I didn't open it, I just carried it back and delivered it as instructed," Draco answered. "What matters is she successfully convinced herself to trust us."

Harry shrugged and opened the envelope he was holding. “Snape is curious enough to meet with us too. Thank Merlin. If  _ he  _ wouldn't work with us, we would have to involve Dumbledore.”

“In our original Hogwarts years, I would have been shocked to hear Saint Potter admit to disagreeing with Dumbledore.” Draco mused. He waved off Harry’s immediate response.“You've explained your reasons. It's still weird to hear.”

“He  _ means  _ well,” Harry retorted anyway. “But he still concluded that a  _ child's  _ life was an acceptable sacrifice for winning the war, and I can't approve.”

“It doesn't help that it was  _ your  _ life that nearly got sacrificed.”

“I didn't mind at the time that it was me,” Harry argued. “It just made sense.  _ At the time _ , it made sense,” he amended, at Draco's scowl. “But in hindsight I care that he was willing to sacrifice a child, when there are  _ other ways _ .”

“He didn't necessarily have your ability to find them, though,” Draco reasoned. “And how  _ dare  _ you make me defend Dumbledore,” he added, feigning offense.

Harry sighed. He appreciated Draco's attempt to lighten the mood, but thinking about Dumbledore always left him conflicted. “What's that last letter?” he asked, to change the topic.

Draco slid it open. “It's our new identities,” he realized, pulling out a stack of official-looking documents. “Congratulations.” He slid a Canadian passport and an apparation license across the table. “You are now officially Harvey Malfoy née Peverell.”

“Darius works fast,” Harvey commented, observing his new documents. “Why Canada?”

“You still speak French with an accent. But it's natural for a French citizen to holiday in a nominally French-speaking country, which is how we met.” He gestured with his own new passport, open to a page of stamps indicating travel to different countries, but when he flipped it closed, Harvey spotted his name and photo on the first page. “We got married in Denmark, by the way.”

“Aww, Dray, you let me keep your nickname after all.”

André's ears went red. “I  _ hate  _ nicknames,” he lied. “Don't you  _ dare  _ call me that in public.”

“Of course not,  _ dear _ ,” Harvey agreed, grinning as André's whole face turned red at the endearment. Honestly, it was adorable how strongly he still reacted to verbal affection, after all these years. Harvey took pity on his husband and changed the subject. “Anyway, Snape wants to meet Saturday morning, at the Hogs Head. Objections?” He gestured at the remaining owl, which was waiting impatiently for a response.

André took another note in his planner. “None, as long as I can set the privacy wards. How did you get his attention?”

"A nickname that no one actually uses, and implications about the effectiveness of his adherence to his Vow to protect Harry Potter if he doesn't at least hear us out," Harvey answered. "We still have to actually convince him to help, when we meet with him."

André hummed his acknowledgment. "Good thing you're very convincing when you want to be," he said, with a wicked grin.


	3. Meet Harry

The long drive home from Kings Cross was more than a little awkward, with Uncle Vernon muttering under his breath about interrupted work days and occasionally scowling at Harry in the mirror, and Harry unwilling to incur Vernon's wrath further by attempting any conversation. But there were only two months of summer break, and the Dursleys didn't know he wasn't supposed to use magic. Vernon was keeping all his malice to grumbling so far, which was already an improvement. Harry just had to keep his head down and survive the summer. Hopefully they would be trying to avoid him as much as he hoped to avoid them.

When they arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive, Vernon barely gave Harry time to heave his trunk out of the boot before pulling back out of the driveway and driving off.

Harry sighed and dragged his trunk carefully across to the front porch, then struggled to get it up the three stairs even after setting Hedwig's cage out of the way. Aunt Petunia was waiting just inside the door, but she didn't make a move to help him.

"Into the cupboard," she instructed tersely when he finally dragged his trunk over the threshold with a thump. Harry felt his heart sinking horribly before he realized she was scowling at his trunk rather than himself. Well, at least  _ he  _ wasn't going to be locked up, but he wasn't willing to just give up access to his trunk. On the other hand, leaving his trunk in the cupboard was easier in the short term than hauling it up the stairs to the bedroom the Dursleys had allowed him after his first Hogwarts letter.

"As long as it stays unlocked," he insisted.

"We allow you to stay here out of the goodness of our hearts," Aunt Petunia launched into a familiar tirade. "I won't have you making demands in  _ my  _ house. Of course your freakish supplies will be locked up so they can't contaminate the rest of the house." The scowl she was now leveling at him communicated how much she would like to lock him up too.

"I have summer homework," he countered. It was a weak argument given how irritated the Dursleys had been if he ever out-performed Dudley in school. "If I can't do it because my trunk was locked up, I'm sure they'll send someone to investigate," he bluffed, betting on her aversion to the magical world. Snape wouldn't care, though; he'd probably accuse Harry of making up excuses and not even trying.

Petunia opened her mouth to argue but she was interrupted by a knock on the still-unlocked door. She frowned suspiciously at it, clearly not expecting company.

Behind the door was a lean man in neat muggle attire - a gray button down shirt with a perfectly starched collar, dark slacks with nary a wrinkle to be seen, and polished shoes that could be mistaken for leather, though Harry was reminded of the texture of his dragonhide gloves.

His long dark hair wasn't cut in a muggle style though, and if it weren't for his startlingly green eyes, hidden as they were behind square-rimmed glasses, Harry might have assumed he was looking at James Potter outside of the Mirror of Erised. But Harry had studied his parents' faces thoroughly during Christmas break, and James had hazel eyes. Otherwise, their faces were very similar.

"Petunia Dursley," the man said. "Won't you invite me in?" His tone was perfectly polite, but his smile was stiff.

Petunia glared at him, but ushered the man inside and closed the door behind him quickly. His sheer resemblance to Harry would make his presence the target of gossip if the neighbors noticed.

"Who are you then?" Petunia demanded.

Before answering her, the man turned to Harry, and his smile softened into something more genuine. With Petunia at his shoulder, the man brushed his bangs out of his eyes, granting Harry, but not Aunt Petunia, a glimpse of a very familiar lightning bolt scar on the man's forehead. He winked at Harry, who was fighting hard not to stare at the bangs once again covering the man's forehead.

"I'm here to take custody of Harry James Potter," the man answered, not offering his name. "I believe you'll find I'm at least as close a relation as yourself, but a magical guardian is better for a magical child, wouldn't you agree?" he asked blandly, tone expecting no argument.

Petunia sputtered for a moment. "Your sort threatened me if I didn't take him in," she snarled. "What am I to tell them if I sign him over to you?"

"Hmm," the man didn't seem bothered by her tone. "If Dumbledore asks, tell him that 'Peverell' took over custody. And if he incentivized you further with talk of blood wards, I can assure you that as long as Harry lives with me, your home will be protected too." His tone remained almost forcibly polite the whole time.

Peverell pulled a small pouch on a chain out from under his shirt, and somehow produced a full sized portfolio from it, the first blatantly magical act he had performed in their presence. He flipped open the portfolio revealing a small stack of parchment. The document on top looked very official, though Harry didn't have much time to examine it before the whole thing was handed to Petunia. "I'll just need your signature on the first two pages," he told her. "Feel free to read the documents before you sign them. I think I'd be insulted if you didn't," he said mildly.

Peverell turned back to Harry. He pulled an identical looking leather pouch out of the one around his neck and maneuvered Harry's trunk into it without asking. Before Harry could panic, Peverell handed him the pouch. "Keep that safe," he instructed. Harry cautiously slipped the chain around his neck. Peverell gave an approving nod. "Is there anything you need to collect from your room or anywhere else in this house?"

"No," Harry answered quietly, trying to avoid Aunt Petunia's attention. But it was also the truth: everything he cared about was in his trunk, especially since he hadn't had time to unpack since Vernon dropped him off.

"I expect the boy never to darken our doorstep again," Aunt Petunia insisted, handing Peverell the portfolio.

The man glanced over the documents, before closing the portfolio and slipping it away in his own pouch, and tucking the bag under his shirt again. Harry mirrored the action and tucked his own pouch away under his ratty, overlarge t-shirt.

"On my honor, Harry Potter will never return to this house after he leaves today, unless he himself desires it," Peverell said solemnly, the first thing he'd said to her that expressed genuine emotion.

Petunia scowled suspiciously at him for qualifying that promise, and Harry thought it might not be necessary. Why would he ever want to return to Privet Drive?

"Ready to go, Harry?" Peverell asked.

Harry nodded cautiously. There was no way he had left anything here, but the thought of leaving  _ forever  _ made him worry he'd forgotten something anyway.

"One last thing," Peverell said. He opened Hedwig's cage, and allowed her to step out onto his arm, cooing familiar nonsense about what a beautiful bird she was. He handed her cage to Harry. "Put that away too."

Harry tugged his leather pouch out from under his shirt, and wondered how to get Hedwig's cage in through the tiny opening. But his trunk had fit...

He held up the cage, trying to figure out how to get it in, and the moment the edge brushed the opening, the cage seemed to tug against his fingers. Startled, he let go, and suddenly the cage was nowhere to be seen. He shook the bag cautiously, and heard the cage clanking against his trunk. The pouch seemed to weigh nothing at all, so it was reassuring to hear that all of his things were definitely inside.

Peverell led Harry outside, and hoisted his arm to encourage Hedwig to fly off. “She'll find us tonight,” he promised. “Hedwig is a smart bird.” He started walking, and Harry automatically followed.

“Is Peverell really your name?” Harry asked, when they were a block away from the Dursleys' house.

“Whether it is or not, it sends a message,” Peverell said, dodging the question. “I'll explain better once we're behind wards,” he promised.

He led Harry into a narrow alley a few blocks away. Neither of the houses around it had windows facing the alley. “You'll need to take my arm, or I'll need to take yours,” he instructed. “We're going to apparate to our destination. It will feel like you're being squeezed to death, but it'll only last a moment and then we'll be there.”

Harry vaguely remembered mentions of apparation. No one had mentioned it being uncomfortable. “Okay,” he agreed cautiously, and took Peverell's arm.


	4. Introductions and Stories

After a horrible squeezing sensation, they arrived in a disheveled back garden of a townhouse. The street wasn't visible, but Harry could hear it – busier than any of the neighborhood roads in Surrey.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, after he recovered from feeling like his stomach had been pulled inside out. It didn't seem like a deeply magical area, the way Diagon Alley or Hogwarts did.

“We're in London,” Peverell answered. “Welcome to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Let's go inside so we can speak freely.” He led the way to a door and unlocked it.

Harry followed him through into a wide – for a house – hallway. The first meter or so had a polished wooden floor, and the rest appeared to be a fluffy dark gray carpet. Harry imagined that if he were working in the back garden here, he would store his muddy tools and boots in that first area. There was certainly enough room.

Peverell closed the door behind them, and locked it with an absent wave of his hand as Harry took in the space.

“As I'm sure you've figured out, I am also Harry Potter. Or more accurately, I used to be,” he answered Harry's question from before. “Ignotus Peverell is one of our ancestors, and I chose his name for the message it sends to someone who may try to meddle. My husband and I came back in time with several goals. One was to ensure you have better Hogwarts years than my own. Another, I will tell you about when the time comes.”

“Your husband?” Harry asked, surprised, the first time his older self paused for breath. He hadn't even thought about girls in that way... yet. But he certainly hadn't considered liking boys either.

“Yes. I ask that you keep an open mind.” his... himself... Old Harry answered. “I know Vernon wasn't exactly accepting of anyone different than himself, but we know better than to trust his opinion.”

“I know,” Harry agreed quickly, not wanting to think about his uncle.

“But also, myself and my husband were not yet friends at your age,” Oldarry continued. ...Larry. Larry sounded better than Olarry. Larry said this more forcefully than seemed necessary. “We were much closer to rivals, in fact,” he admitted.

Harry frowned, trying to think of anyone he was _rivals_ with. He had friends, like Ron and Hermione, and he had enemies, like Snape and Voldemort. The quidditch teams were often described as inter-house rivalries, but he didn't know any of the other seekers well enough to really pay attention to them.

Was it the Weasley twins? They were always trying to outdo each other, and everyone else... No, he still got along with them too well to explain Larry's nerves. Percy maybe? He didn't interact with Percy enough to be friends, and the Prefect thing made him a bit intimidating. He certainly couldn't imagine marrying Percy Weasley.

Still, he wouldn't judge anyone for marrying Percy, not even Larry.

“I'll keep an open mind,” Harry promised cautiously.

Larry met his eyes, studying him with a sort of mischievous appraisal. “I married Draco Malfoy,” he said plainly.

Harry choked on his half-formed reassurances about Percy. He married _Malfoy?_ There was no way... “Oh. Good one,” he chuckled as he recovered. Malfoy seemed closer to an enemy than a rival, albeit less deadly than Voldemort.

“It's not a joke,” Larry said gently. Harry was suddenly very glad Larry had let him keep his own stuff in the tiny leather pouch around his neck. He wasn't sure he trusted his (...his own?) judgment anymore. Larry continued, as though unaware of Harry's growing concern. “It's true, he was a bit of a bully at your age, but he grew out of it. Come on, he's waiting in the dining room.”

Harry swallowed his nerves – he would never let Draco Malfoy see him being scared of him – and followed Larry into the large house, past a staircase, and into a comfortable dining room with a large table, which looked old but freshly polished, down the middle of the room.

A man with shockingly blond hair, which did indeed resemble Malfoy's, was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. He smiled when they entered.

“Harry, this is my husband, Draco Malfoy,” Larry repeated promptly.

“Er... Hello.” Harry answered. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to introduce himself or not. Malfoy clearly recognized him.

“Come now, _Harvey_ , don't get him started on bad habits,” Malfoy scolded Larry. He turned to address Harry again. “We changed our names, since Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are both well known to be children right now. I'm André Malfoy, a distant cousin from France and _how dare you question me; my French blood is purer than any of you Brits'. My father barely acknowledges Lucius as a cousin._ ” He sounded so much more polite than the real... current... contemporary? Malfoy, until he affected a French accent with a condescending tone and stuck his nose in the air like that. Then Harry could believe this was Draco Malfoy. “And of course, my husband Harvey Malfoy, is traveling with me.” he continued, in a normal voice, nodding at Harry's older counterpart.

“And since we are trying to _not_ draw attention to ourselves as time travelers,” André continued, extending his hand politely, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter. My name is André Malfoy.”

“...Pleasure,” Harry answered automatically, shaking his hand.

“Excellent,” Harvey decided. “Now, Harry, before you pick a bedroom and put your things away, there's one more introduction to make. Kreacher?”

A small knobbly being with large flappy ears and slightly bulging gray eyes appeared with a pop. “Master Harvey be calling?” he croaked, in a manner that could be called pleasant. He appeared to be wearing a dark blue pillowcase. Admittedly, it was a clean and neatly pressed pillowcase.

Harvey smiled down at him for a moment, then turned back to Harry. “Harry, this is Kreacher. He is a house elf associated with the Black family, in particular, your godfather Sirius Black. Kreacher, this is Harry Potter. He will be staying here with us for the summer. Harry will be expected to keep his own areas tidy, and as I've said before, anything he asks of you will be a request, not an order.”

“Kreacher understands. Welcome, Mister Harry,” Kreacher said politely, dipping his head in what might have been a brief bow.

“Er, hello Kreacher,” Harry answered. “My godfather?” he asked Harvey. “I didn't know I had one.”

Harvey sighed. "It's rude to just ignore Kreacher right away, even if you have interesting and important questions for me," he scolded gently. Somehow, the quiet rebuke made Harry feel worse than any of Vernon's shouting. Harvey turned back to the elf. “That will be all, Kreacher. If you like, you may go back to what you were doing, or you may stay for this conversation.”

“Should Kreacher be making lunch?” the elf asked.

“Excellent idea, thank you Kreacher,” Harvey answered. “Remember to make enough for yourself too.”

“Kreacher will,” he answered, before popping away.

Harvey turned back to Harry. “House elves are magical beings that humans cursed and tricked long ago,” he explained, quiet and serious. “They're largely forced into slavery, and humans treat them as lesser. They are denied the dignity of clothing unless they are freed, but for many, freedom is a slow and painful death sentence because it cuts them off from their own magic.”

Harry's eyes went wide.

“It's horrifying, I know,” Harvey agreed. “House elves see their options as slavery or death, so even though people frequently treat them worse than the Dursleys ever treated you,” – Harry ignored André's surprised glance at Harvey for the comparison – “most house elves will be insulted if you ever offer them clothes, and they may even plead against it. Technically, Kreacher is bound to obey any command I give him, so I try to suggest actions, rather than requiring them. I ask that you try to do the same.” He fixed Harry with a serious look until Harry nodded his understanding.

“One of these days, I hope he will trust me enough to accept clothing,” Harvey muttered, almost under his breath.

“Didn't you just say that's a death sentence?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“For _most_ ,” Harvey agreed. “There's a loophole in the curse that only a very desperate elf might discover. I'll introduce you to the elf who discovered it later. He's busy right now with a task he is very enthusiastic about.”

André snorted. “That's one way to put it. You have to remind him to sleep at night.”

“And I do,” Harvey agreed, with a fond smile. “Every night.” He shook his head, and turned back to Harry. “Did you have any other questions?”

Harry's thoughts on house elves hadn't quite settled. He'd just been given a lot of information at once. But Harvey had also mentioned... “My godfather?”

Harvey sighed, and smiled sadly. “Your godfather. Sirius Black. This is his house, you know.” He settled into a seat and motioned for Harry to do the same.

Harry listened intently as Harvey told the story of his father's best friends, of how they became illegal animagi to support each other, and of how, when Voldemort was targeting his family, clever defenses were overcome by betrayal and trickery.

When the story was over, with James dead, Sirius in prison, and Peter free but presumed dead, Harry's head was spinning even worse. “How do you know this?” he demanded. “Why hasn't anyone done anything?”

“I learned the truth in my third year,” Harvey admitted. “When I met Peter and Sirius and Moony.”

“And why haven't you told me Moony's name?” Harry realized. “You told me everyone else's.”

“Because it's rude to out someone as a werewolf,” Harvey answered. “If you still meet him after circumstances change – because I _do_ intend to get Sirius exonerated and freed properly – it should be his right to mention it or not.”

“Why does getting Sirius freed affect whether I meet Moony?” Harry asked, confused.

“In my third year,” Harvey answered cautiously, “a notorious criminal broke out of Azkaban. The news speculated, and the general public believed, that he was after the Hogwarts-aged son of the friend he had betrayed, in order to 'finish the job' after the child had defeated his leader. But the headmaster of Hogwarts remembered the criminal as a student, and remembered who he was friends with. He hired the only other living – to his knowledge – person who had been his close friend to be the Defense teacher, because he was the person best suited to anticipating and defending against his once-friend's actions. That year, the risk he could mitigate against a determined invader, was a benefit that outweighed the risk of hiring a werewolf to teach at a boarding school in the first place.”

“But didn't Dum- didn't that same headmaster allow Moony to attend as a student? And you just explained that werewolves are just people, and responsible ones can lock themselves up to avoid causing harm!” Harry protested.

“I did say that,” Harvey agreed, “But I suspect that with a curse on the Defense position, the headmaster _also_ had to save the qualified candidates for years he really needed them.”

“The curse is real?” Harry asked. Hermione had been deeply skeptical, but after Quirrell's death, Harry hadn't been able to make up his mind.

“Hmm, over 50 years of Defense teachers not lasting more than a year, and then suddenly after the Dark Lord died, the next teacher lasted over a decade?” André mused. “It sure looks like one.”

“We think so,” Harvey answered, more straightforwardly. “We intend to deal with _certain factors_ much sooner in this timeline, so you shouldn't have to worry about too much more teacher turnover.”

“I still say we should let the fraud destroy himself,” André said, with a very Draco-like sneer. Harry had almost forgotten this was supposedly Draco Malfoy. He faded into the background so easily, while Harry's Draco always fought to be the center of attention.

“Things already won't go the way they did last time,” Harvey argued, though it lacked heat, like an old argument being rehashed. “Dobby is going to collect –”

“Master Harvey be calling Dobby?” a very energetic house elf with bright green eyes asked, appearing in the middle of the room. This one was dressed in a filthy tea cozy, with similarly filthy bandages on his long-fingered hands, which was a stark contrast to how adoringly he beamed up at Harvey.

“Sorry, Dobby, I wasn't trying to call you. I was just commenting on how great of a job you were doing,” Harvey responded. “You can go back to it. Thank you for your diligence.” 

“Dobby is being honored!” the elf squeaked, and popped away again.

“Er,” Harry wasn't sure how to phrase his question.

Harvey explained before Harry could even ask. “That's the elf I mentioned earlier. He's currently spying on his previous family for me, keeping an eye on a dangerous artifact that will _not_ find its way into the hands of an innocent Hogwarts student. When he's home, he has a whole outfit that he wears proudly. I'll introduce you properly later, like I promised.”

Harry nodded in relief. He was glad the energetic elf wasn't being mistreated, despite his looks.

“We'll be getting you some proper outfits as well. Tomorrow, I think," Harvey promised. "Don't let me forget. Now, if you'd like to go pick a room to put your things in-” He was interrupted by plates, and serving dishes full of food appearing on the table. “...Or you could wait until after lunch. I'll give you the tour then if you'd like.” Harvey grabbed a bowl and started serving himself, before offering it to André. “Carrots?”

Harry cautiously served himself a piece of chicken, and a bit of bread. Harvey glanced briefly at Harry's plate, but glanced away again without expressing judgment, and Harry more confidently served himself some potatoes, and then carrots when they came around. It was ridiculous, honestly, expecting Harvey... expecting _himself_ to treat himself like the Dursleys had, but some instincts were hard to erase. It was one thing at Hogwarts, to serve himself food when no adults were at the table to scold him for taking 'more than his share'. It was another thing entirely to take food under the watchful eye of his guardian.

“Anyway, we don't know how the curse will manifest with the... artifact out of the way, and I'm not risking some innocent student getting caught in the crossfire when the ponce self-destructs,” Harvey finished his earlier argument.

André sighed. “I just don't want the students getting stuck with him.”

“Then we'll make sure he gets fired regardless,” Harvey stated, tone deceptively mild. “His own spell backfiring _was_ poetic justice, though. Wish we could somehow reproduce it.”

Harry listened eagerly, soaking up the hints of a future they were predicting he wouldn't see. “Is that... this year's teacher?” he finally asked.

“Unfortunately,” Harvey answered. “You learned more from Quirrell than this idiot will teach you all year. Be prepared to self-study, and not with the assigned textbooks.”

Harry groaned. “You want me to turn into Hermione?”

Harvey just grinned at him. “Hermione has good study skills, but I think you're better at being Harry Potter.” Harry wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. It had the cadence of a joke. ”But you _should_ actually do your summer homework. Since you won't have to sneak around to do it, I recommend you work during the day, starting this week, and then have the last few weeks of summer free to do whatever else you like. I'm sure your friends will want to visit or invite you over at some point.”

Harry had been disappointed at the mention of homework, but he lit up at the thought of his friends. “Can I have them over _here_?” he asked. He would have never dreamed of having even Hermione over to visit at the Dursleys, but with an understanding, magical guardian...

Harvey hesitated, sharing a look with André. “We will discuss specifics later, but absolutely, your friends may visit here. There are a few things we'll need to get settled before you issue those invitations, though, okay?”

Harry nodded eagerly. He hadn't been looking forward to a summer away from the freedom of Hogwarts and the presence of his friends, but apparently both of those were things he wouldn't have to miss after all.


	5. Ron's Letter

Harry got a letter from Ron only two days into break, delivered at breakfast by an exhausted looking owl that nearly hit the table before Harvey scooped him out of the air. “Easy there, Errol. Rest a bit, poor thing,” he cooed, offering the owl a bit of toast, before conjuring a small dish of water. He glanced at the name scribbled on the envelope, and passed it promptly to Harry. “For you.”

_ Hey, mate,  _ read Ron's spiky handwriting.  _ How are you? I hope your muggles are treating you alright. _

Harry frowned, and glanced up at Harvey and André. “Can I tell Ron about you adopting me?” he asked.

“Taking custody of you,” André corrected immediately.

“Do you think he would react well to hearing you were taken in by anyone with the name Malfoy?” Harvey asked rhetorically. They'd already talked about how rare time travel was, and how much he  _ wasn't  _ to put his guardians' true identities in writing. André was even attempting to teach him Occlumency so he could keep his mind that much more secure as well.

Harry frowned at the thought. He'd been pretty reluctant to meet André, and he already sort of trusted Harvey, as his older self, before that came up.

“Tell him a relative, who had previously been traveling outside of Britain, picked you up at the Dursleys',” Harvey decided. “Harvey  _ Peverell  _ if you must. And you may share that you have my permission to visit friends so long as you are making progress on your summer homework.”

Harry grinned and turned back to Ron's letter.

“And eat your eggs before they get cold,” Harvey reminded him.

“That's what warming charms are for,” André teased, as Harry took another bite of scrambled eggs, trying not to spill any on Ron's letter

“Eggs still get gross and rubbery if you leave them too long,” Harvey retorted.

_ I hope your muggles are treating you alright,  _ Harry read.  _ Ginny's already talking my ear off about all the things she's looking forward to at Hogwarts, and asking if it's really like Fred and George say it is. I suppose I can't blame her for wanting a second opinion. Remember how Fred told me we'd have to fight a troll to get sorted? Those buggers are nasty. Speaking of Fred and George, they're already in trouble. Mum laid into them on the way home - apparently they really did send Ginny a Hogwarts toilet seat. Can you believe it? Anyway, Mum is calling us all down to dinner. I'll write again soon. _

_ -Ron _

Harry grinned. Ron's letter wasn't the same as having his friend at the same table, but the distance didn't feel like much at the moment.


	6. The Ritual

Harry woke to a polite knock on his door. He groaned and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his glasses. The clock said it was just after 7 am. "Come in," he called half-heartedly.

Harvey opened the door just enough to poke his head in. "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning," Harry answered. "Did I forget something?" He didn't _think_ they had plans today. He wasn't visiting the Weasleys for another week, and now that he was done with his summer homework – plus the handwriting primer Harvey had slipped him, to improve his penmanship with a quill – he was taking the opportunity to sleep in for once. Even at Hogwarts, Oliver was always dragging the team up on weekends.

"You didn't forget; we didn't tell you," Harvey answered. "I'll explain over breakfast. Come down when you're ready."

Harry debated going back to sleep and claiming he wasn't ready - Harvey hadn't given him a time that he must be ready by - but he was awake enough, and curious, so he dragged himself out of bed and got dressed in one of his new casual robes. After a quick trip to the bathroom - his hair was untameable as ever - he made his way downstairs to the dining room.

André and Harvey were both already there, though they weren't talking. André had his nose buried in a book that didn't appear to have a title, and Harvey was stirring his porridge more than eating it.

When Harry was finally stirring some fresh berries into his own porridge, Harvey leaned forward and met his eyes from across the table. "Remember when I first brought you to Grimmauld, and I said giving you a better childhood than my own was _one_ of our goals?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, part of that is defeating Voldemort so that you don't have to. Wars and hunting down terrorists aren't jobs for children, and your childhood shouldn't have to include him more than it already has."

"Thanks," Harry said drily. They were time travelers – why couldn't they have done all this before Voldemort even came to Hogwarts last year? Maybe his childhood wouldn't have had to include Voldemort at all...

"And to that end, one of our more specific goals has been destroying the objects that enabled him to survive when his own spell backfired almost eleven years ago," Harvey continued. "He made them with extremely dangerous magic. This magic is so evil that if you've even heard of it, especially at your age, people will assume nasty things about your upbringing. Dark magic isn't necessarily evil, but this _is_." He waited for Harry to nod his understanding before continuing. "But André says your Occlumency is good enough that we can mention it to you – Voldemort stored shards of his own soul in objects outside his body, which is why enough of him survived to come back years later." Harvey shuddered. "Splitting your soul is a horrible, horrible thing to do. But Voldemort was reckless and split his soul, not once, which would be enough for protection from death, but several times, and it left his soul unstable. With all the chaos of the night he tried to kill you, and his other spell backfiring, a bit of his soul split off and attached itself to _you_."

"Don't worry," Harvey said quickly, not quite before his previous sentence had sunk in enough for Harry to panic about it. "We know a ritual that can remove it from you with minimal harm."

"What's 'minimal' harm?" Harry asked, alarmed. He said they planned to _destroy_ all the objects.

"Everyone who has been through this ritual has recovered within a day or two," Harvey assured him. "Mostly it will call upon your own magic to help force the soul piece out, which will leave you tired." He paused long enough for Harry to accept that and start to relax, before adding, "and it may leave an exit wound."

"A _what_?" Harry demanded.

"I mean, the soul piece may force its way out of your scar and leave it bleeding," Harvey admitted. "But without a curse under that 'curse scar' it can be healed promptly. Much quicker than your magical core recharging."

Harry nodded again. The few bites of porridge he'd eaten before Harvey mentioned Voldemort seemed to sit heavy in his stomach now, and he wasn't sure he could eat any more. But Harvey hadn't lied to him about anything this summer, even uncomfortable things like apparation, and he sounded honest about the ritual not being totally harmless. And the effects he described didn't sound too bad. Harry would - cautiously - accept a day of fatigue over having to fight Voldemort himself.

"What do I need to do?" Harry asked, trying to dredge up the bravery the sorting hat must have seen in him to send him to Gryffindor.

Harvey smiled reassuringly. "You just need to follow us to the ritual room and lay down where we tell you to. Then during the ritual, focus on wanting the soul piece _out_ or wanting yourself to be whole and untouched, or something to that effect. It isn't strictly necessary for you to do so; about the only thing that might mess up the ritual is if you were focused on keeping Voldemort's soul as a part of you, but I'm sure you don't want that, right?"

"No!" Harry agreed. "I don't want anything to do with him!"

Harvey nodded. "We're doing a similar ritual on the objects Voldemort deliberately created, so that we can move the soul pieces into scraps of parchment, and destroy those instead of the priceless artifacts he chose to corrupt with his soul. We can do those first, if you want to see the objects unharmed, to reassure yourself that you'll be fine, or we can do those after getting the soul bit out of you if waiting would make you more anxious."

"I'll go first!" Harry decided. Knowing that he had a bit of Voldemort inside of him - literally - was more terrifying than the thought of sitting through a mildly harmful ritual. He wanted Voldemort _gone_.

Harvey nodded his understanding. "Can you eat any more?" he asked, clearly familiar with how Harry's nerves could get in the way of eating.

Harry glanced at his porridge, but the thought of taking another bite made his stomach clench uncomfortably. He shook his head.

"What about some toast?" Harvey asked, easily accepting the 'no'.

Harry shrugged. Toast didn't sound good either.

Harvey studied him for a moment, but didn't press the issue. "I'll show you to the ritual room then. We'll start as soon as André is ready."

André sighed and closed the book he was reading. "I'll just come with you," he said, standing up.

They walked together to the ritual room, a sparse room in the basement with stone walls and a matching stone floor, behind a heavy oak door.

There was a table in the far corner of the room, but Harry's eyes were drawn to the chalk markings across the floor, filling most of the room.

"Those are runes," Harvey explained, following Harry's curious glance. "One of the classes you can take starting in third year will teach you to read them, and how they can be combined for different magical uses. If you're interested in understanding or even inventing complex rituals like this, the Arithmancy class would fill in the gaps for things that Runes doesn't explain."

Harry nodded absently. He didn't really care about classes right now, but knowing the chalk markings had specific meanings and purpose made him wary of smudging them. "Where do I need to go?" he asked.

Harvey directed him to lay inside a smaller circle of runes near the center of the outer circle, then placed a piece of parchment marked with an H in a separate, but similarly central circle of runes. The stone floor was cool and firm, but not as uncomfortable as Harry had expected.

Then Harvey and André took their places opposite each other across the outermost circle. At some signal Harry didn't see, they both started chanting. For a moment, it didn't seem like anything was happening, but then Harry felt his magic surge like the first time he held his wand.

Pain shot through his scar as badly as it had when Quirrell had removed his turban, and Harry suddenly, instinctively understood that the soul piece had wanted to reunite with the other parts of itself. It had been trying to leave his body then, and he would suffer the pain if that meant it would leave him _now_. It was hard to think around the pain, but Harry tried to focus on Harvey's advice. He focused on wanting Voldemort out of him and away from him.

The pain got worse, and then...


	7. The Aftermath

Harry's memory was fuzzy after that. He woke up in his own bed, exhausted, some amount of time later. His head didn't hurt at all, but his whole body felt heavy, as though he'd spent hours practicing quidditch, only without the blisters on his hands.

He groaned and wondered if he even had the energy to reach for his glasses.

"Master Harry is awake!" Kreacher's raspy voice sounded oddly close, before he popped away.

It may have been ages, or no time at all, before André was letting himself into the room, announcing his entrance, which was good because Harry wasn't sure he could work up the energy to invite him in.

"Always the same stubborn idiot," André observed fondly. "That ritual should've had at least four wizards outside the circle but instead he wore himself out, and called on your magic more than many twelve year olds could give. And you! You just went along with it. Not that you could've known better. He's the adult; he should've been more responsible."

Harry blinked fuzzily at André, who helped Harry sit up, propping him against the headboard. "Since you're awake, you should eat something." It wasn't a question.

Harry wasn't sure he could eat  _ anything _ , but André sat next to him on the bed and patiently spooned warm broth into his mouth when Harry's arms refused to cooperate. He spelled some sort of potion directly into Harry's stomach in the middle of feeding him, but Harry couldn't keep up with the explanation of what it was or how it was supposed to help him recover.

Harry's mind had finally caught up on recent events by the time André was helping him lay down again, though he was getting drowsy again.

"Diddit wor?" he managed to ask.

"It worked," André assured him, tucking him in, and tucking some of Harry's wild hair gently behind his ear. "Your body now contains one-hundred percent Harry Potter and no one else." His hand lingered, warm and gentle and comforting, on the back of Harry's neck.

_ Good _ , Harry thought, but the word got lost somewhere on the way to his mouth. He was exhausted, but comfortable, and he fell asleep again before his next conscious thought.

  
  


It was another day – according to André – before Harry was coherent enough to keep track of time, another day after that before Harvey started taking turns checking on him, and another two days after  _ that  _ before they trusted him to wander the house alone, like he had earlier in the summer, without collapsing.

André continued to scold Harvey for underestimating the intensity of the ritual even after they'd both recovered, and Harvey looked so apologetic that Harry couldn't find it in himself to be mad at him for misleading them about it.

"The wizard who invented the ritual must've been more magically powerful than average," he mused one time, when it came up. He didn't elaborate when Harry pressed, and André just rolled his eyes and made Harvey promise to consider all factors before doing any other rituals.

Another time, when Harry complained about how long it was taking him to recover, Harvey admitted, "That's the other reason we waited to do the ritual. I wanted you to finish your homework first, so your recovery wouldn't interfere with your ability to do it."

Harry had been ready to collapse after taking himself to the bathroom and back that day, and he acknowledged wearily that the very thought of homework was even more exhausting.

But he was feeling like himself again, with a day to spare before he was due to visit the Weasleys. Harry eagerly spent the time sorting out what he would take with him for the single overnight visit.


	8. The Burrow

Harvey apparated Harry to an empty dirt road, which he explained was just outside the wards of the Burrow - the name of the Weasleys' house. He walked him up to a spot that had no significance that Harry could see, and paused for a moment, before continuing on, walking him all the way to the front door of the physics-defying house, and knocking.

A plump, friendly looking woman with graying red curls met them at the door. "You must be Harry,” she observed warmly. "Come in, come in, Ron's been looking forward to your visit. And, er?" she turned to Harvey, taking in his appearance as a wealthy pureblood.

"Harvey Peverell, a cousin of Harry's, recently returned to Britain," Harvey answered easily. "My husband and I took custody of Harry early this summer when we visited to meet family; his aunt happily signed him over with barely a thought. I thought I'd introduce myself when I dropped Harry off."

Mrs. Weasley frowned at the thought of Harry's aunt signing him away so easily, or perhaps at Harvey's mention of his husband, but she invited Harvey in too.

Introductions were made around the breakfast table. Harvey pulled Arthur aside for "the perspective of an experienced father," and Harry quickly settled in, chatting with Ron and the twins. Ginny was oddly silent, compared to Ron's letters describing her as "never shutting up." When Harry met Percy's eyes, he suddenly remembered his assumption, when Harvey had first picked him up, that maybe Harvey had married Percy. He had to quickly look away again.

Harvey and Mr. Weasley returned quietly while they were all busy talking; Harry hadn't even realized they were back until Mr. Weasley asked, "Ron, would you bring Scabbers to me? I'd like to see how well you took care of him this year at school."

"Sure," Ron answered, confused. "I'll be right back," he promised Harry, before disappearing up the stairs.

When Ron came back with a napping Scabbers, Harry realized that Scabbers was a rat missing a finger, and that Harvey must suspect him of being Peter Pettigrew. He watched, with a tension unmatched by his friends around him, as Mr. Weasley cast a silent spell at Scabbers, who glowed blue for a moment, but didn't wake. Mr. Weasley looked slightly green, and Harvey looked grim. Harry's suspicions strengthened..

"Ah, Percy, Fred, George, why don't you go work on your homework," Mr. Weasley instructed, sounding slightly strangled. He was holding the still-sleeping Scabbers with both hands. Mrs. Weasley shot him a confused look, which he returned with an expression Harry couldn't read. "Ron, Ginny..."

"Go de-gnome the garden," Mrs. Weasley jumped in, ignoring Ron's protests about how recently he'd done the garden, and Percy's that he was already done with his homework. "Take Harry-"

"Harry stays," Harvey interrupted. "I've got one more thing to tell him before I leave. He'll join you soon," he promised Ron.

None of the boys, nor Ginny, had left the breakfast table, trying to watch whatever was going down.

"All of you, get to it. Now!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, prompting a flurry of activity, as everyone scrambled to put their dirty dishes in the sink and leave the room before Mrs. Weasley could scold them further. When the room contained just the adults, Harry and Scabbers, Harvey raised privacy wards that Harry recognized because André had demonstrated them the other day.

“You first, Harry dear.” Mrs. Weasley said, with a pointed look at Harvey.

“Actually, what I have to say to Harry involves this mess with Scabbers,” Harvey said apologetically.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, clearly wanting to send Harry away, but finally demanded, "What's going on?"

Harvey and Mr. Weasley glanced at each other, silently deciding who would answer.

"There's an illegal rat animagus that I know of, whose supposed death never seemed right. He was supposedly blown up, and the only parts of him that were found were a finger and his  _ undamaged  _ cloak. When Harry mentioned that Ron's pet was a rat missing a toe, I thought I'd investigate, out of an excess of paranoia," he explained. While he was speaking, he conjured a small cage, and spelled it.

"But the animagus-detecting charm came back positive," Mr. Weasley continued, locking Scabbers, who was starting to stir, into the cage. "So I sent the boys away. We can figure out how to tell Ron... and Percy that their pet rat wasn't a rat."

Mrs. Weasley looked like she wasn't sure whether to yell at Harvey, or to chase Harry out before he could witness anything worse.

"If you would like to check for yourself, feel free," Harvey invited her, holding out the cage.

Mrs Weasley cast the spell aloud, and Scabbers leapt to his feet, scrambling to escape the cage, even as the same blue glow surrounded him.

"I've spelled it unbreakable," Harvey explained, looking directly at the rat.

"Is that really Peter?" Harry asked.

"No way to tell until someone spells him back to human form," Harvey answered. "But what are the chances of there being two unregistered rat animagi, one who died and left only a finger, and another missing a finger?" he asked rhetorically.

"Peter?" Mrs. Weasley asked, at the same time as Harry asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you with my own paranoia. I hoped to be proven wrong," Harvey answered, which Harry knew must be a lie. Harvey had said Peter's identity was revealed in his third year; he must have known.

Harry frowned and resolved to ask him the real reason in private.

"And yes, Peter Pettigrew. I was looking into the history of Sirius Black, Harry's rightful godfather. It didn't seem right for me to adopt him if Black still has a claim, even though I'm family. Did you know he was sent to Azkaban without a trial? Or at least there's no record or transcript of one. Harry can call Black's house elf. And when I asked the elf about Black and the man he supposedly killed, he was able to tell me that Pettigrew was Black's friend, and an unregistered animagus."

The Weasleys were now looking at Scabbers with even more suspicion. He was still frantically trying to escape.

"We'll discover the truth in front of the DMLE," Harvey declared. "Arthur, do you mind being a witness when I take him in?"

"Sure, I... sure," Mr. Weasley agreed, still looking shaken.

"Harry, I held you back because I thought you might have your suspicions about Scabbers after Arthur and I reacted to him. I wanted to ask you not to mention anything to Ron or the others. Claim you were sworn to secrecy or something. It's Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's right to decide how best to break the news, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Is that like a magical vow or just the muggle way?"

"I was hoping to just take your word, the muggle way," Harvey admitted. "Unless you think you can't keep a secret?" he challenged.

Harry was never one to back down from a challenge. "Of course I can!" he insisted. "On my honor, I won't talk to anyone about Scabbers being an animagus."

"You won't mention anything about it to the Weasley children until after their parents have," Harvey corrected him. "You may be called as a witness if 'Scabbers' gets a trial, and you'll want to be able to speak about him then."

"I won't say anything about Scabbers being an animagus to Ron or his brothers until after their parents talk to them about him themselves," Harry obediently corrected.

"Or Ginny," Harvey reminded him.

"Or Ginny," Harry agreed. "I won't mention it to Ginny either, until her parents have."

Harvey nodded his satisfaction at Harry's oath. "Good. Now, I believe I promised you to your friends." He nodded in the direction of the back door, where Ron and Ginny had disappeared, and ruffled Harry's eternally messy hair. "Be good. I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay!" Harry turned toward the back door, and when no one called him back, walked all the way out the door, to where Ron and Ginny were waiting just outside the door, clearly trying to listen in. Ginny went red and looked away from Harry, but Ron immediately demanded, "What's Dad upset about? Is something wrong with Scabbers? I've been taking care of him, I swear!"

"I'm sorry. I was sworn to secrecy about all the adult stuff." Harry answered. He wished he could just explain, but he was slightly glad he wouldn't have to. "Harvey just told me to be good," he offered.

"He sounds like Mum," Ron decided. "I don't know why she told us to degnome the garden. I just did it yesterday, they can't've all come back already."

When Harry expressed his lack of familiarity with gnomes, Ron was all too eager to show him, and didn't warn him that they bit until after the first one latched onto Harry's finger. When he finally flung it off, Ron congratulated him on how far it had flown and challenged him to a competition of who could throw the gnomes the furthest.

They ran out of gnomes before Ron declared a winner, so Ron showed him around the orchard and the clearing they sometimes played quidditch in, and they all tossed apples back and forth – even Ginny eventually joined in – until Mrs. Weasley called them all back in for lunch


	9. A Visitor

"Did you have a good time?" Harvey asked, as they walked up the driveway away from the Burrow.

"I did!" Harry answered. "They've invited me over next week too. Can I come back then?"

"We'll discuss it later, but probably," Harvey answered thoughtfully. "I-”

“Why didn't you tell me about Scabbers?” Harry asked again.

“Because it's not your job to arrest criminals,” Harvey answered gently. “Just like it's not your job to fight terrorists. The adults need to be responsible for the adult problems, and since no one else has, I'm taking up that role on your behalf.” He let Harry process that, before saying, “I should warn you that we have a guest at home today."

He paused, and gestured for Harry to take his arm.

"Who is it?" Harry asked, after the crushing feeling of apparation left him wobbling in the back garden of 12 Grimmauld Place.

"It's your Professor Snape," Harvey answered. " _Be nice_. I've already talked to him about not taking out a decade-old grudge on a preteen who hasn't done anything, and he's here to help us with the _project_.”

He unlocked the door and Harry followed him inside. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll be nice if he is."

"I'm expecting civility from you both," Harvey insisted, locking the door behind them. Harry followed him to the ritual room, where André and Snape were chatting, while they waited.

"Malfoy," Snape greeted Harvey, with a polite nod. He hesitated, then nodded stiffly at Harry. "Potter. I did not realize you were to be part of the proceedings." A familiar judgmental tone came back into his voice, but it didn't seem to be directed at Harry for once.

"Harry's just here to watch," Harvey assured him. "He's had a soul piece removed from him already; he knows what's going on."

"As long as the... As long as Potter knows to stay quiet," Snape insisted.

"I know," Harry agreed, a little too quickly. He could barely remember his own ritual, but now that he didn't have to worry about Voldemort inside of him, he was curious to see the process from the outside.

He was also eager to see Voldemort destroyed – so eager that he felt guilty for looking forward to someone's death... But that someone _was_ a mass murderer, so he didn't feel _too_ guilty.

Snape scowled, but he didn't say anything else against Harry's presence.

André conjured a chair for Harry to sit in, in the empty corner of the room.

He sat and watched – silently, because he knew if he made a sound, they would insist he leave – as the three men stepped into place around the circle. Harvey levitated a necklace of some sort into one circle, and a labeled parchment into the other middle-ish circle of runes. The ritual involved chanting that didn't sound familiar from Harry's own ritual, but he still didn't understand the words. It drew a smoky, ghostly _thing_ out of the locket, which snarled threats at them, before the ritual forced the specter into the parchment instead.

Harvey levitated the necklace out of the rune-circles, and the parchment away to a separate place on the table, replacing them with a golden cup and a new parchment that had been laying underneath it on the table, and they did the ritual again, with similar results. Harvey continued levitating objects into and out of the rune-circles between each ritual, sorting the purged artifacts into one pile, and the newly-tainted parchment into another. Finally, after four harrowing rituals, when Snape was looking grumpier than usual and André had abandoned his usual pristine posture in favor of leaning against the wall, Harvey declared they were done for the day.

"I thought you said there were five?" Snape asked, curtly.

"Five including the one you brought, yes," Harvey confirmed. "We've got a house elf watching the last one. He's going to bring it here if it's ever left unattended and unwarded – with a convincing double in its place, of course. This elf is good at mimicking human magical signatures, and Voldemort was only human. If its current guardian is too cautious, we have reliable intelligence that he's going to try to slip it into an upcoming first year's belongings to sow chaos at Hogwarts, at which point it will certainly be unwarded, and unnoticed if not unattended, so the elf can collect it then."

Snape scowled. "Will you be calling me back to deal with it?"

Harvey considered. "Not necessarily. This one isn't a founders' artifact. It's the diary that once belonged to Voldemort himself as a schoolboy."

Snape frowned at Harvey, as though trying to determine if he was lying.

"I might just stick the other parchments within the pages and stab them all through with basilisk venom at once," Harvey mused.

"You're not destroying these _now_?" Snape asked, horrified.

" _No_." Harvey answered plainly. "His soul is already so unstable, it split once without his knowledge. Admittedly, I suspect he was planning to make a horcrux from Harry's death, and had prepared accordingly, and it might not have come loose under other circumstances, but if we remove some of the pieces from the land of the living, it will destabilize further, and I'm not taking the chance of him making more accidental horcruces that we can't even guess at and hunt down because Voldemort doesn't even know about them himself!"

Harvey's voice had increased in volume until he was practically shouting, and Snape's eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hair at the rant.

Harry was surprised too. It was more emotion than Harvey had ever shown around him. Usually he kept it locked tight behind his Occlumency shields and promised that Harry would someday be equally able to control his emotions rather than them controlling him.

André stepped forward to put a soothing hand on Harvey's shoulder, and Harry realized that the frustration underlying Harvey's outburst must be somehow related to the future they never talked about. An immortal Voldemort who didn't even know the secret to his own immortality, and which no one else could track down? Harry shuddered at the thought.

Snape's eyes suddenly narrowed, studying Harvey's face, then darted briefly to Harry's own, and back again. "Very well," he said. I defer to your expertise..." he paused an extra, skeptical moment before addressing Harvey by name, "Malfoy."

Harvey nodded, locking all his emotions away again - so thoroughly that if Harry had entered the room right now, he might not realize anything was wrong. "Thank you."

"May I show you out?" André asked politely. Snape sent Harvey another suspicious look, but nodded at André and followed him away.

Harry and Harvey sat in silence for another moment before Harvey turned to Harry. "Sorry about that. I let my emotions get the better of me."

"It's okay," Harry answered, trying to decide if there was a polite way to say 'I'm relieved to know you have emotions after all.'

They lapsed back into silence.

“Out of curiosity,” Harvey asked suddenly, “Can you understand me?”

Harry frowned. What sort of question was that? "Of course I can.”

“You're still a Parselmouth, then,” Harvey concluded, and proceeded to explain the ability, and the stigma, to Harry, who hadn't even realized they'd been speaking another language.

It was yet another thing that people would judge him for that he had no control over.

"Shall we see if Kreacher has made anything for dinner?" Harvey asked, when Harry had run out of questions about Parseltongue.

Harry eagerly agreed to the change of subject, and left the room as quickly as he could without feeling like he was running away.

André was waiting for them in the dining room. "I think Snape figured us out," he reported.

Harvey shrugged. "Yeah, but he's not going to out us. He's going to hold onto that knowledge until he figures out how to benefit from it, probably by bartering for knowledge from the future. And in the meantime, he's going to be busy figuring out how it affects his Vow that there are now two Harry Potters."

André hummed, unconvinced. "I hope you're right about his loyalties."

"I am," Harvey insisted, with a quiet surety that had Harry believing in him even though he didn't know precisely what Harvey was insisting upon.


	10. An End, of sorts

After an exciting – in all the wrong ways – shopping trip with the Weasleys, Harry was relieved to take Harvey's arm and return home to 12 Grimmauld Place.

Dobby met them at the door, dressed in bright, clashing colors, and looking very pleased with himself.

“Dobby has completed his task, Master Harvey Sir!” he reported excitedly.

“I thought you might've,” Harvey said warmly. “Great job. Remind me later, and we'll discuss the time off you deserve but didn't take, and what your next task can be.” He turned to Harry. “Would you like to see the final destruction of Voldemort with your own eyes?”

They collected André on the way to the ritual room, where everyone knew not to touch the stack of parchments.

Harvey pulled out a gleaming dagger. “This is goblin-forged steel,” he told them. “I'm leasing it from Gringotts for a week. The blade is infused with basilisk venom, which makes it perfectly destructive against these soul pieces, but otherwise safe to handle.”

“Did it _come_ infused with basilisk venom or did you face a hungry basilisk to upgrade it?” André asked.

Harvey pointedly didn't answer. Instead, he slid the parchments under the front cover of an unassuming black book. It was the only thing left on the table – the former soul-containing artifacts had all disappeared since the last time Harry had been down here. “Would either of you like to do the honors?”

André shook his head no, and Harry didn't work up the courage in time to volunteer, so Harvey turned back to the book and, without ceremony, stabbed all the way through it, into the table below. It spurted ink like heart's blood, but otherwise didn't seem to react

“Is... that it?” Harry asked, after they'd all stared at the destroyed book for a long moment.

“That's it,” Harvey said. “His soul was in too many pieces for him to have a chance at becoming a ghost, so the pieces had no choice but to move on.”

André relaxed.

“Move on to where?” Harry asked.

“Even the ghosts don't know,” Harvey answered, turning away from the ink-stained table. “They've never been that far.”

“How can you be _sure_ he's dead?” Harry asked.

Harvey met Harry's eyes. “ _That_ , I will explain to you after you're an adult, if you're still good at occlumency by then. I assure you, I have good reason to be so certain.”

Harvey had told him about so many things no other adult had – including the true story of Sirius and Peter, and even about Voldemort's soul pieces. What could be that much more sensitive? But on the other hand, Harvey told him about everything else he asked about or even halfheartedly speculated about, or that he even guessed Harry was wondering about...

And André trusted Harvey's certainty. Harry could too.


	11. Looking Ahead

“So,” André broke the silence as they made their way up the stairs to the more inhabited parts of the house. “I say we give Father a week to recover from the diary's influence, and then we set up a meeting. How does lunch sound?”

It took Harry a moment to realize that André's father was Lucius Malfoy, who had started a fist fight with Arthur Weasley earlier that same day. The Draco Harry's age had been predictably awful, sneering at the Weasleys for no reason at all except that they were poor and his father didn't like them.

“Hm. We did promise Narcissa, didn't we,” Harvey mused. “Why don't you arrange two occasions: the former with just yourself, and the latter with us in attendance. Draco insulted the Weasleys today for being poor. Bad form, that.”

“Good idea,” André agreed. He pulled out a planner and started taking notes, even as they were still walking.

“You were fine,” Harvey assured Harry, who had been second-guessing his interactions with the younger Draco all day, even after they parted ways. “You only told him to stop attacking your friend, and he _was_ being a prat. Draco is perfectly capable of growing out of his bullying and posturing,” he grinned at André, “but he's twelve, so he hasn't yet.”

“ _Yet_ ,” André echoed. “And I intend to give him a talking-to, so hopefully he'll come around sooner than he might otherwise.”

“If we can't make anything work before the first, you and I can still meet with your parents,” Harvey said. “But it'd be nice if Draco and Harry could re-meet each other, without that initial misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding?” Harry asked. André had just nodded at Harvey's statement.

“Pureblood versus muggle etiquette expectations,” André explained. “Draco felt that you snubbed him when you didn't at least shake his hand while rejecting his offer to introduce you to his skewed idea of the 'right sort'. Then by the time he realized you were muggle-raised and didn't mean to insult him in that way, you were already entrenched in your rivalry.”

“Hermione found a great book explaining the differences in etiquette, but of course it doesn't do her much good when the snobby purebloods don't treat muggleborns with the same respect,” Harvey interjected. “I've got a copy for you, since Draco won't be the only one to assume you're familiar with wizarding culture just because of your name.”

Harry sighed. More reading to do. “I'm still not convinced you aren't trying to turn me into Hermione,” he complained.

Harvey grinned. “She takes studying to an extreme, I'll admit, but knowledge is power. It's useful to everyone, but especially to those who aren't born into other forms of power. I eventually regretted not taking school seriously, especially when I had to learn things again later because I discovered they were actually useful to my life, not just in theory. I hope you can learn from my mistakes. By the way, I know you can achieve EEs on everything if you try, and I expect to see your grades reflect that. Even History,” he insisted, before Harry could protest.

“I'll try,” Harry promised. It felt weird having a guardian that cared about his grades. Weird, but good. He hoped he could live up to Harvey's (to his own) expectations.


End file.
